


with your lover's tongue in a lullaby

by burnsidesjulia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi, Pining, Smut, Unrequited Love, aaron is sad and sleeps around, almost??, idk how even to describe what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsidesjulia/pseuds/burnsidesjulia
Summary: Alexander gets married. Aaron doesn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'when the stars go blue' by ryan adams

Aaron taps his fingers against his knee impatiently beneath the stretching white tablecloth, eyes glancing back up at the roman-numeraled clock. It’s far away and hard to read, but Aaron knows. He’s been staring at it all night for some distraction. Five minutes. 

A screech echoes through the huge room as Alexander pushes back his chair and stands. They really outdid themselves with this wedding; Aaron’s always known that the Schuyler family has money, but all this seems a bit extensive, especially with such a small wedding party. To put it in such a big building, it feels like overcompensating. Or, Aaron is just sad and looking for things to nitpick. Whatever.

Alexander grabs blindly at the table until he locates his wine glass, raises it while tapping at the side with a knife, the sound chiming out like a bell. “Ahem,” he begins, though he knows everyone is already looking. How could anyone _not_ be looking? Alexander commands attention. He smiles in the crooked way that he smiles. Aaron rips the skin off of the corners of his thumbs. Four minutes.

“I’d like to thank you all again, for being here with us today. As some of you have already said, this is a really, really big thing, and it could change everything forever.” Pause for dramatic effect. “But I hope it doesn’t.” He stops again and looks both ways out at the room, like he is patrolling for passing cars. Aaron wishes one was there to hit him. “I hope we all stay just the same.” Aaron thinks about how he feels Alexander’s gaze towards him linger a bit too long as he says that, but he doesn’t look back for fear of something awful happening. He just keeps looking at his bouncing knees and waits, counting to sixty in his head by way of quick ‘ _one-one, one-two, one-three_ ’s, so on and so forth.

“This should only make things better. It has already, because I’ve never, ever been happier than I am today.” There’s a sharp tug in Aaron’s gut, like everything Alexander says has a direct effect on his body’s well being. Fuck him for being happy. Alexander pauses here, the way he had practiced it in his office for months. His office right next to Aaron’s, the bastard. “So I’m going to be a bit of an asshole, and read a poem. One I wrote for my fianc- erm, wife, sorry I’m gonna have to get used to that- one I wrote for my wife, actually, and I’m really glad that I managed to capture the way that my Betsey makes me feel. So, here goes.” Alexander intentionally flubbed the line. He practiced that part extra hard, because he’s always been a terrible actor but he wants to sound authentic. And he sounds authentic, alright. Struck dumb by love. Aaron could really use a beer.

He finally looks away from the clock and back at Alexander. One and a half minutes left. Alexander meets his eye again, gives a smile so bright that it hurts. Aaron hates him. He doesn’t bother to smile back, just gives a nod. Alexander is his best friend. This is Alexander’s night. Alexander deserves so much better. Or, worse. Aaron isn’t sure. Alexander waits for Aaron to break the eye contact first before walking to his mic.

“This poem,” he starts, pulling a rumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolding it ceremoniously, “is for you, Eliza.” Everyone claps and cheers, and some unnecessary tears fall as Aaron glances up at the clock one last time. He realizes his own eyes are bleary but he blinks it back, saves it for later. Not now. It’s almost over. He can wait ten minutes, leave, and never look back on this night again. He shouldn’t have come, anyway.

Aaron has never been so thankful for his ability to look focused no matter what he really is doing. He can’t remember a single word from Alexander’s poem, can’t wonder if he ripped a line or two directly from the ones he wrote for Aaron. He hadn’t been able to hear through the blood rushing past his ears at an impossible pace. All he had been able to focus on during Alexander’s recital was the way his new wedding ring glinted in the golden light.

\--

Alexander flings the door of the firm open, climbing the stairs in two long steps. “Did you notice that she only cared about Eliza and I? Weird.” He turns around to Aaron, walking backwards into the building. Aaron forces a smile and nods. They’ve just come back from visiting with Angelica across town, just about business. How she’s going to be filling in for Alexander when he leaves for his honeymoon, after they wrap up this case. Aaron likes Angelica, but he doesn’t like the conversation topic, doesn’t like the subject matter. Aaron will agree with Alexander on this. She cared just a bit too much about their honeymoon, kept changing the subject away from the fact that they were doing business. Or more, she’s doing the Hamiltons a personal favor, but still. Still.

“It made me feel kinda gross,” Alexander admits with a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. He tosses his hair back with a shake of his head. “It’s almost like I’m some sort of attraction. Like, at a zoo.” He sighs, flops back into a chair. It’s not that important, ya know? Like, _oooh_ , I have papers that say I’m committed to Eliza now. Big deal. I already _was_ committed.” Aaron wants to laugh. Does Alexander listen to anything that comes out of his mouth? He can’t actually be serious. He wants to say that, too, wants to argue, but he just sits down gently in his own chair, props his feet up on a side table. “It _is_ big deal. I mean, you’re married now. Things will have to change.” Alexander glances over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and then scoots his own chair across the tile and right up beside him, a little closer than necessary. “Well yeah, but. It’s not like this’ll _actually_ change anything.” Aaron does laugh this time, though he tries his best not to. Alexander turns on him, face falling. “Oh god. Are we gonna have the talk now?”

“What talk?” Aaron asks obliviously, voice sharper and more sarcastic than he wants it. He feels like it’s giving a piece of himself away, showing too many of his cards too soon. He doesn’t want Alexander to know that he’s hurt. That he’s sad. He’s done so well hiding it thus far. Alexander shakes his head. “I dunno, Aaron. How about we just not do it. Let’s just… be normal about it.” Alexander smiles. “Let’s just be normal again.” Aaron doesn’t even try to stop this time, just rolling his eyes and turning the other way. He slams his arm down hard onto his armrest on the side opposite Alexander. “I don’t know what _you’d_ call normal, but I’ll _try_.”

“You don’t have to sound like such a dick about it, Aaron. I meant, just stay friends. Stay close.” He pauses to take a huffy breath, to glare at Aaron. “Stay _normal_.”

“Alexander, I wasn’t even going to mention it. It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even think about it. It seems like I’m already being the normal one.” He thinks it’s strange that they still haven’t given _it_ a name. Instead, _it_ is a whisper, some faint sound that Aaron can’t quite place because he hasn’t heard it in so damn long. Alexander stands and walks in front of Aaron, cocking his hip and placing a hand on it. “Normal, Aaron, would be anything but denying that there were-” He pauses and cups his hands around his mouth, choosing his words wisely. He takes in a deep breath. “There were… _things_ , that happened between us that maybe shouldn’t have. Because that’s the truth. That’s what we should stick to.”

“So you’re just telling me that we used fuck, and now we don’t? And that’s all?” Aaron questions snappily before he can stop himself. Alexander drops his hands from his face and Aaron catches one hand twitch into a fist for just a moment. “You act like you’re fucking five sometimes, Aaron.” He turns his back to Aaron, shaking his head. “We used to be… together, and now we are not. I am married, and I’ll be damned if I go from cheating boyfriend to cheating husband.” And thus, Alexander gives _it_ a name. Together. They were _together_. What they have, or had, was a relationship, in one way or another. Aaron should have figured, really, and he’d have thought so from the outside, at least. They exchanged I love you’s and cuddled and lived together but still, but still. It all seems so long ago.

Alexander rubs his face again and heads for the door of his office. Aaron thinks about following him, but his legs are like lead and he can’t make them move. “What about me?” he asks instead, voice much smaller than it was before. Alexander doesn’t even turn. The door shuts behind him with a soft thud, followed by a clicking lock. It seems almost more dramatic in that way.

\--

Aaron’s tongue is in Jon’s mouth.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Aaron was crying when Jon came in, curled into a pathetic sniffling mess that cried to the rhythm of Alexander’s heartbeat from the next block over. Jon had sat down beside him, and touched his side gently, and there’s a bit of blankness after that but now they’re kissing. Neither of them planned it, Aaron doesn’t think, but it’s happening now and neither is brave enough to pull away and face it. They’ve done this before, Aaron thinks detachedly. Sometime when Bellamy was smaller, scrawnier, longer hair, more like Alexander. So it was sometime when they were younger. During college, probably, when they were roommates. That is to say, history repeats itself. Jon’s hands are bigger, rougher than Alexander’s now. Heavier. His touch makes Aaron feel small, and Aaron revels in that because nothing before has ever made him feel as small as Alexander’s love. 

He’s on top of Jon, hands in his gelled hair, tugging it out of place and into oblivion where it belongs. His mind is a mantra of _fuck Alexander, fuck Alexander, fuck Alexander_ , and every time the words hold different meaning. Aaron lets his mind wander, lets himself come out of his body and watch himself with Jon instead of feel it. There is no feeling in this moment, only action, only deep breath, only _fuck, fuck, fuck, Alexander, Alexander, Alexander_.

Jon groans and pulls back after a particularly sharp bite to his lip, and Aaron is drawn back into his skin with a jolt. “Shit, sorry Bell,” he manages to pant, not thinking about the vow of silence between the two that he’s broken. “Sorry, I’m… it’s just, Al-” Aaron pauses. He was going to mention that it was done because Alexander always liked it, liked the shatter of his own skin between Aaron’s lips. History repeats itself, he supposes. He wants to say that too, but he doesn’t. He catches Jon’s gaze for a moment before it becomes unbearable, before plunging back into the kiss and letting his hand travel up his shirt instead. Jon doesn’t question it any further, only falls back into place and lets Aaron use him as a surrogate for Alexander, _fuck Alexander fuck Alexander fuck Alexander_. 

The kiss is mind numbing. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s like breathing through a gas mask and watching the world fall away for a moment before total darkness. Aaron finds himself thinking of how Jon is shifting under him, gentle and caring, and some part of him recognizes that Jon doesn’t feel the same. Jon is enjoying this, not medicating from it. Some part of Aaron wants to pull away and spare him.

Instead, he sits up and takes his own shirt off. He waits while Jon follows suit, tries to ignore the pang of guilt when Jon gasps as he leans back into the kiss. It really wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but neither boy is about to complain.

Alexander is with Eliza right now. Alexander is in his own apartment, holding her hand with his left and a sharpie with his right, crossing off days on a calendar counting down to when they can go on their honeymoon. Because the city is no place to fall in love, to celebrate love. Alexander always links fingers when he holds hands, swings his arm back and forth like a child. Aaron doesn’t know what it would feel like to hold his hand now that he is wearing a ring. That belongs to Eliza, all Eliza, Eliza who’d kissed Aaron at a party in 12th grade and told him not to tell. She was still dating Alexander at the time (and history repeats itself, he silently hopes). And now, she is married to Alexander, _his_ Alexander, the same Alexander who’d slept in his bed and kissed him soft and slow and straightened his tie for him and said he loved him still the day he’d bought her that ring, the day he proposed, just a month before the wedding. And now Alexander, Alexander who doesn’t.

_Fuck Alexander._

Jon reaches for his belt and Aaron wonders, if he were to change his mind right now, if he could even stop this. The way they’re hurtling fast off the track, out of safe, mapped out areas and into dangerous territory. He knows this is the part where the room usually falls away, and he can forget and stop being so fucking sad, but he isn’t sure he can trust himself to the blackness, because here’s the thing; he knows Jon will spare him. And that- that terrifies him. Because Jon will get what he wants from this (whatever it is he wants from this), redress and go, leave this behind him and leave Aaron alone about it. Aaron’s kissed Jon before, so he knows this, and Aaron’s done more than kiss Jon before, too, so he knows this for sure.

He wonders, briefly, if Jon thinks of him like he thinks of Alexander, like he’s thinking of Alexander right now while Jon kisses him. A long-winged insect that lands on your lampshade some nights but you can’t ever kill or catch or even show to someone else. He stops, instead thinks about Jon’s hand brushing up his thigh, big and warm and so unlike Alexander. Fuck, no one is ever going to be like Alexander again. Aaron thinks about Alexander’s smile while Jon unzips his pants, thinks about the curve of Alexander’s back and the sweet freckles on his shoulder, tilts his hips up to assist. He imagines, again and again, Alexander walking in the room, Alexander seeing them, Alexander changing his mind and apologizing and still being in love with him. But he doesn’t.

Jon’s eyes are green. Everyone else that Aaron’s ever kissed has had brown eyes, but Jon’s are green and have a red ring around the center like an olive. Pretty, yes. Alexander, no. If Jon’s eyes were brown, or Alexander’s weren’t, Aaron thinks he could fake it a little better. He doesn’t think he could fool Bellamy, anyway, but it’d be worth a try. He bites again and Jon doesn’t protest, just revels in the sensation of being wanted. Aaron wishes he felt wanted, too.

\--

Alexander is gone three days later, as soon as he closes the case he’s been working on. It’s only a few days earlier than he was supposed to leave for his honeymoon, but it feels like being jabbed in the chest with a burning coal poker. Alexander talks with his hands, and all Aaron can see is the shiny metal glint on his ring finger as he says his goodbyes around the office. He can feel the empty spot on his own finger where his matching one was always, always, always supposed to be sitting. Alexander _promised_. It’s childish even thinking it, but Aaron can’t help it. There is a sleeping boy in his stomach who keeps waking up and throwing a fit because, after all, Alexander did _promise_. And now, Alexander is gone.

Angelica arrives the next day. She nudges Aaron in the side and tells him to take a break.

Aaron reads a lot in his spare time. He reads every book on his bookshelf once, then twice, then starts buying new books because reading was never tainted with Alexander and the internet is far too dangerous. He goes on a few times and sees articles about the law firm, their recent success with the Levi-Weekes case, the Reynolds case. And while that makes him smile, the recommended section usually carries something about one of the lead counsels for those cases, something about Hamilton. On a bad day, something about Alexander’s wedding. Too dangerous.

When Aaron decides that he’s going to go broke if he carries on like this, when he stops buying books, he tries calling Jack. Mostly it’s because if anyone knows anything about trainwreck relationships, specifically trainwreck relationships with Alexander Hamilton, it’s Laurens. He’s never held down a lover for more than a few months. Likely that’s because he keeps dating women, but that’s beside the point. Aaron has other reasons, of course, and it’s also because the way that Bellamy might respond _scares_ him. He doesn’t want that soft pity and gentle hand. But at the same time, he doesn’t want the viciousness that others could give him, even though he knows he deserves both in spades. Like, sure, he could call Sally, but he’s so different from his sister. She’ll goad him for not taking a chance on Alexander sooner, for not chasing what he wants. _What are you waiting for?_ she’d ask. He could call Angelica, but Angelica cares about her sister more than anything in the world, so Aaron complaining about her marrying Alexander would probably just piss her off. Aaron doesn’t confide in Jefferson for obvious reasons. It doesn’t matter. Things just seems easier this way. In a different life, Aaron might even think about calling Alexander, to come help, to pick up the pieces he discarded like Aaron was a broken plaything. So he calls Laurens, but Laurens doesn’t pick up. Of course. He just leaves a message. 

“Hey Laurens, just calling to, uhm, you know, talk. I don’t really have any plans, since, heh, Alex-” Aaron’s voice catches, breaks, and he feels tears welling in his eyes. He shouldn’t have called. Shouldn’t have done a lot of things. He hangs up.

Aaron is counting the tiles on his ceiling when the door rattles open and Laurens stands in the frame. “Buddy,” he sighs, punctuating his sentence by crossing the room, pulling Aaron off of the couch and into his arms. He holds him there for a long time. He lets go and holds Aaron out at arm's length. “Dude, you’ve got it bad for him. I know.” He motions to the couch and lets Aaron sit. “Talk.” Aaron bows his head obediently but doesn’t say anything. Laurens sits beside him and places a gentle hand on his back. “Aaron,” he urges softly, his soft doey eyes blinking fast. Aaron thinks for a split second about Alexander’s eyes, and then lets the tension in his shoulders go. When his shoulders go down, his guard does too, and before he can stop himself, Aaron is crying. He hasn’t cried about this yet. Laurens’ arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in, whispering sweetly, saying nothing. Aaron cries until there is nothing more in him but empty, nothing in him but echo and silence and Alexander. Laurens takes his hand away from Aaron, folds them in his lap and sighs again. “I’m so sorry, Aaron. I’m really so, so sorry.” He shakes his head and looks away from Aaron, who is still sniffling and scrubbing tears out of his eyes.

“I honestly... I can’t imagine.” He stops because, well, he can. Alexander and Laurens are something Aaron has never quite understood, but he’s pieced bits of it together. They dated in college. Laurens was closeted, Alexander was not. Alexander wanted to declare his love from the rooftops, Laurens was scared. Alexander left him for Eliza when it didn’t sort itself out. And then Aaron, Aaron was a sidepiece the entire time, screwing around with Alexander long before he left Laurens, long before he started dating Laurens. Why Alexander never wanted to be loud with what he did with Aaron, why he didn’t just date _Aaron_ after he left Laurens, Aaron tries not to think about. He’s grateful Laurens doesn’t hate him. He’d hate himself for what he did. Come to think of it, he does.

Laurens shakes his head again. “I never thought he’d actually settle down, the way he… I dunno. I’m just talking to be talking.”

“It’s fine, Laurens,” Aaron finally speaks, words slipping out thick and sticking to the back of his throat. “Just keep talking. I don’t want to think about this.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he bows his head again. Laurens leans in, one hand patting Aaron’s shoulder. “Aaron, you… You’re such a great guy. Alexander never deserved you and you know that. He never made a commitment once in his life, and the one time he does, he leaves you. He’s full of shit. The dude is my best friend, but he and Eliza just…” He breaks off again. “What I’m trying to say, Aaron, is that you deserve better.” Laurens’ hand lingers a moment longer before leaving Aaron’s shoulder blade again. He looks down towards their knees and quietly adds, “We all do.”

“I know,” Aaron manages to mumble, sinking back into the couch and feeling his face heat up with tears again. “I know.” Laurens leans over, face stopping inches from Aaron’s. “If there’s anything I can... help with… Just let me know.” He cups Aaron’s chin with two fingers. “Aaron. I don’t want this to change anything, okay?” His breath smells like alcohol and peppermint. Pure Laurens.

“You sound just like him.” Aaron swallows hard and sits up straight, Laurens moving in sync with him and staying just far enough to keep their mouths from meeting. “ _Don’t let this change anything_. There’s nothing to change. I’m in love with him.” Aaron looks to the floor. “I just love him.” Laurens keeps moving closer, no matter how Aaron is ignoring him. Aaron wishes he was Alexander, even Bellamy, because he knows how it goes with them. And Aaron hurts inside, and wants to kiss Laurens more than anything else right now, but is too scared of the person his heartbreak is making of him. “I love him too,” Laurens says softly, and leaves it at that.

Laurens moves in closer still, and Aaron keeps his eyes down, focuses on the smell of alcohol and mint. He runs through his options quickly, and decides he will let Laurens kiss him, because he’s never kissed Laurens before and who knows. Along with that, Laurens’ body is the same size as Alexander’s (it’s not; Jack Laurens is all tightly packed muscle and rough edges, spitting blood into a sink drain. Alexander only pretends like that. Laurens is impossibly real, impossibly close to Aaron’s face). His hair is the same length (but that doesn’t match either; Laurens and his twisted halo of curls, so unlike Alexander and his rolling black waves. Aaron misses Alexander). Laurens is not Alexander, not even close, but if Aaron opened his eyes while he kissed Laurens, he could play pretend and be in love, not lying.

“I love him too,” he repeats, his grey-green eyes locked intently on Aaron’s lips. “But he’s never going to love us like that again.” And with that, Laurens closes the gap between their mouths.

Aaron gasps inwardly and Laurens takes control, presses him back into the couch and lifts one of Aaron’s hands to lock in his hair. Thus far, he has noticed that Laurens’ breath comes heavier than Alexander’s, but in the same gasps and same pattern, same sound. Alexander tastes better. Laurens has softer lips.

Unlike with Jon, unlike with Alexander, time starts flying as soon as his lips meet Laurens’. Laurens is more controlling, even though he’s smaller, and Aaron appreciates it. Control was never a necessity when he kissed Alexander. It’s the same now, and all he wants is something to do. Aaron likes the way Laurens feels against him, anyway. His body is warm, perfect pressure, feels so much like Alexander but so much like someone else. Laurens’ hands are big too, long fingers worn and calloused and that’s something else to remind him that this is not his Alexander, this is just aimless touching. Still, his hands fit perfectly on the swell of Aaron’s hips, perfectly at the small of his back, perfectly when one rises to pet the top of his head soothingly, like he thinks Aaron needs to be comforted. He probably does.

Aaron runs his hands over Laurens’ body, maps out the differences and similarities and tries to think of nothing but that. Laurens isn’t soft like Alexander is, doesn’t have the back dimples that Alexander does, a harder stomach so unlike the bit of pudge that Alexander has that Aaron’s always adored. His skin is different, too, a deeper tawny brown that flushes red with every touch, like he’s hypersensitive to the heat around them. He’s dotted with freckles, more than just a few but an entire world of them, a painting Aaron can’t make sense of. That’s another thing Alexander lacks. His mouth is wet with alcohol and a little sloppy against Aaron’s, but it’s good. It’s better when he crawls into Aaron’s lap, wraps his knees around his hips. He mumbles something into the kiss and Aaron ignores it, bites him. Laurens pulls back to say it again with more clarity. “Aaron, are you sure you want to-”

“Yes,” he interrupts, sliding his hands back through the top part of Laurens’ hair, pulls it partway out of his ponytail. He nods fervently. “Yes, I want this.” Laurens smiles nervously, pointy teeth showing over his lips. “Alright. C’mere.” He moves back in for the kiss, grinds his hips forward. Aaron gasps into his mouth. He mutters _more_ , comes away with bitten lips for his trouble, but Laurens gets the message. His hands come away from Aaron’s neck to undo his belt, the metal knocking together entirely too loud in the hot room. Aaron wonders if Alexander’s ring would click against his belt like that, what it would feel like when Alexander pushed one long finger against his lips and into his mouth and the metal would taste like blood, and Aaron would _whine_ for him. And Alexander would smile, that dark smile that makes his eyes look like two rifts in the very fabric of time, something otherworldly, his finger would curl down on his tongue--

“Up.” Laurens’ voice is thick in the back of his throat, and he taps on Aaron’s hips to tell him to lift. Aaron obeys, leans harder against the couch to keep himself upright while his friend tugs his jeans down, leaves them halfway unzipped and hanging around his kneecaps. Laurens does the same with his own, and now it’s apparent that he’s half-hard in his boxers just from the kissing. Aaron couldn’t care less, makes no move to get him off. He hardly even notices as Laurens presses back in for another searing kiss, Aaron catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Laurens whines and his hips surge forward again as he bites, and Aaron wants to cry because Alexander would do the same. He does it again, closes his eyes and imagines someone else, a different voice, wider hands and softer skin and searing hot fingertips.

Laurens pulls away again after much ado, all tongues and teeth and fighting, fighting, fighting for something that neither of them can name. He grabs the bottom of his shirt with one hand, tugs it up and away. Aaron watches, intrigued but still bored all the same. He lifts one of his own hands, lays it flat on Laurens’ chest. His heart is fluttering beneath the touch, a caged bird with unclipped wings. Laurens laughs, breathlessly, and takes Aaron’s shirt into his hands too, uses it to pull him back into that searing kiss. Aaron doesn’t care that he chose to leave it on. This isn’t about gentle touches and exploration. Just forgetting. Fighting, fighting, fighting.

Jack Laurens is restless in his kisses, like it’s a battle he needs to win. Really, he’s always been so much like Alexander, if Aaron weren’t so in love he’d have been a viable option much sooner. He sees what he wants, takes it, holds onto Aaron’s jaw like he’ll drown if he lets go. He kisses like he’s starved, like he’ll die if he pulls away. Aaron doesn’t blame him. He imagines himself on a raft, maybe, somewhere where waves are rocking him softly and Alexander is beside him, golden skin in the warm sunlight and he’s smiling, and he’s smiling, and he’s smiling and Aaron wants to cry all over again. He focuses on what Laurens isn’t again, rather than just what is; Laurens isn’t as gentle, Laurens isn’t as sweet, Laurens isn’t making the same keening noises and most importantly, Laurens isn’t Alexander. Aaron couldn’t care less, he tells himself. He could.

God, he doesn’t want this. He’s a liar and he doesn’t want this.

“Laurens, stop…” And to his credit, Laurens is off of him immediately, breath coming in sharp pants. He smiles, brushes his hand back through his hair as if to ground himself. “Come to your senses?” he asks, and Aaron nods. “Something like that,” he mumbles. Laurens nods too, gives Aaron a long look that probably means something. When Aaron says nothing more, Laurens reaches toward him and pulls Aaron’s pants back up like he’s a child. A small comfort. He does the same with his own, settles back onto the couch and stares at Aaron with glassy eyes. It look like he wants to say something, but he can’t figure out what. Laurens holds his hand instead. Aaron lets him.

\--

Months pass.

Alexander comes back from his honeymoon with a deeper tan and rested eyes. He hugs Aaron tight the first time they see each other, holds him for longer than most friendly hugs would. Aaron dreams about the embrace every night for a week.

He stays in contact with Laurens, a little more closely than before. When Laurens worked at the firm with them, years ago, he’d hardly talked to Aaron at all. A bitter little asshole, honestly, hated working law. That, or he hated being in love with Alexander but knowing he couldn’t be his. Aaron think he understands either way.

Laurens got a job at a national park and never looked back. He’s happy now. He’s dating someone else, too, moved on from Alexander. He meets the guy, several times, and he’s nice but Aaron never catches the name. When they do see each other in passing, out on the street, Aaron sometimes thinks that Laurens’ gaze locks onto his lips too long. But Laurens has moved on from Aaron, too, not just Alexander. So he never says anything about it.

Laurens says Aaron should be moving on, too.

But Alexander- Alexander is a bright flame. Aaron is the moth drawn into it every time despite his better judgement. Alexander is danger and hurt, Aaron wants to be destroyed. Alexander is the lampshade and the insect. History repeats itself.

Aaron and Alexander stay friends. Not that he ever expected to do anything else but it’s-- it’s different. Alexander is the type to kiss his friends. He kisses Laurens when they’re around each other. Kisses Jon. Kisses Angelica on the cheek, Eliza full on the lips, he’d probably kiss Jefferson if he could. He does not kiss Aaron. He does not touch Aaron anywhere but the arms and back. Aaron’s skin feels lonely without his hands to cover it.

Laurens says Aaron should be moving on, too.

Aaron kisses other people. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t get anything out of it. He goes on dates, real dates that they give a name to. He even dates Jon for a while, longer than a month. They both agree it’s going nowhere. They break up on good terms. Aaron is glad just to give a name to it.

He doesn’t see Hamilton outside of work. It’s not a conscious decision, he just never thinks to make plans with him. He starts seeing him from afar instead- his back turned to him in a crosswalk, on the same bus with seven seats between them, at the store with Eliza. He almost likes it better that way. Alexander does not kiss him, wouldn’t if he asked. Maybe. Probably. He’s afraid to ask.

Laurens says Aaron should be moving on, too.

Aaron compartmentalizes, and does exactly that.

\--

Elizabeth Hamilton has a nice ring to it, Aaron supposes one day. That same odd rhythm that Hamilton has to his own name, the bouncing energy he exudes. A bit of a dance, Aaron thinks. Eliza can dance to that tune just as well as Aaron used to. He think all of this entirely out of the blue. The thought strikes him strangely, and he’s not entirely sure what to make of it. Maybe this is closure. 

Maybe he’ll call Laurens later. Let him know. 

He closes his eyes and dreams of rings. He’s never been a jewelry type of guy, anyway.

\--

The air is heavy with tension. It always is just before they walk in, their client beside them. Alexander gives the man a weary smile. “You’ll be fine.” He gives Aaron a sideways glance, a look that might mean something more than what he says. “Mr. Burr here is the best lawyer in this entire state. Even better than me.” That’s a new admission. Alexander has never said anything like that before. Maybe it’s an apology.

“While I appreciate what Mr. Hamilton has said to me, I think he is just as capable as I am.” Aaron won’t relent a compliment that easily but, maybe Alexander has warranted that. Alexander’s mouth flickers into a smile for just a moment, then he puts on his serious face again. Their poor client looks more than lost.

“Thank you, Aaron,” Alexander mumbles as he brushes by, soft enough so that it’s only for him. His hand is firm on the client’s back to lead him into the courtroom, his other one beckoning Aaron along when he doesn’t move, finds himself cemented in his place. Aaron’s eyes are a bit bleary, but it’s just from allergies, something like that. Even if it’s not, he can tear up about sentimental bullshit some other time. Now now. Showtime.

\--

Aaron is getting out of the shower, his skin damp and covered in droplets of water that slowly drip down his shoulders when Alexander finds him. Aaron has even started taking careful steps to _not_ see the man outside of work anymore, just to spare himself the sharp ache when Alexander uses that sweet voice. He’s in his own home, his own residence and damn Alex for still having a key and using it. He looks nice, marriage is a good look on him. Glowing in a way he hasn’t for some time. Happy, he thinks absently. Alexander looks happy. He also looks like he hasn’t shaved in about a month, but scruff is a good look on him too. If they were different people now, both of them, Aaron would rub his cheeks with a gentle thumb and tell him to get a trim.

“Aaron?” he asks, and he’s fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt. It’s cold, the tail end of winter, but he’s wearing no sleeves, no hat, just the shirt. He’s had since Aaron met him, it’s too small for him now but he refuses to get rid of it. “I’m a sentimental bastard,” he said when Aaron asked him, only a twinge of sarcasm around the word bastard. It’s a disgusting item of clothing, filled with rips and holes and dead weight that clings to Aaron’s heart as it hangs over Alexander’s chest. Aaron knows what the fabric feels like balled up in his fists. Knows what it feels like shoved between his teeth as a makeshift gag. Knows that it smells like dust in a way that won’t wash out, like Alexander after a shower, a distinct blend of coconut body wash and rainwater on metal rooftops. He can almost taste it as he looks back into Alexander’s eyes. There’s that ache again. Aaron rubs the towel harder into his head, so hard that his scalp starts to burn. Like he’s trying to scrub something off of himself. “Yes, Alexander?”

Alexander rolls back on his toes, carefully avoids eye contact. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

Oh, Alexander.

Aaron could hate him. He could. He feels like he has every right, like Alexander gave him every reason. To claim he loves him and then get married anyway. To say he’ll stay and leave anyway. To parade around with his glittering wedding ring, his glowing face, his pristine, beautiful wife who is everything he ever wanted, everything Aaron never was for him. To not give Aaron any explanation. To just let it fade away. For fucks sake, there was never even a real breakup; they were happy, and then Alexander was suddenly sharing his last name with another person. And now, to stand in front of Aaron and ask if he hates him after so much time has passed, just as he’s started to feel better. Aaron could hate him. He probably should. If they were different people now, he would.

“No. I don’t hate you.” Alexander’s shoulders drop from their defensive rise, he lets out a deep breath. His face begins to color again, like he’d gone pale waiting for the answer. Aaron doesn’t hate him. It feels good to say that.

“Good. Because, I don’t hate you either.” Alexander scratches at the scruff on his cheeks, looks down towards their toes. There’s a reasonable amount of space between them. A friendly amount. Alexander sways forward on his feet, like he thinks to close the gap but decides against it. Aaron thanks him silently for that mercy.

“And I miss you, Aaron.” Aaron buries his face in the towel to hide the cringe, the sharp pain that spikes up into his heart. That would’ve meant something else a few months ago. If they were different people now, Aaron would kiss him, they would do as they do. It’s almost a reflex now. History repeats itself, after all. Aaron thinks about pressing their skin together, standing up on his toes to reach Alexander’s face, his hands itching to indulge in the smooth slide of Alexander’s hair that he knows so intimately. Alexander seems like he’s moved closer. Aaron wants to believe that is permission. 

“I miss you, too,” he says instead, tosses the towel over his shoulder. No more hiding. He does miss him. Alexander is his best friend. His _first_ friend. He’s always been his best friend, always will be. Nothing has changed, really. 

Alexander smiles, and it looks like he’s biting back words. He gives his head a little shake, blinks fast a few time. “I want to apologize, Aaron. I know I told you that I’d-”

“Don’t.” Aaron smiles back at him, grabs his hand. The ring is warm, feels just like his skin. It’s not as special as Aaron thought it would be. He rubs his palm against it over and over, just in case the feeling changes. “I’m not mad. I’m not upset.” He is. Or, he was. He’s not too sure anymore. He doesn’t want to know, anyway. If Alexander apologizes, it gives him permission, makes a baby’s breath of a fracture in the new boundary between them. Aaron would like to say that he isn’t, but he’s looking for every excuse to cross that line. Anything, anything to hold Alexander in his arms again, just one last time.

For now, holding Alexander’s hand feels alright.

Nothing has changed, really.

Alexander looks at their hands like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He looks back up to Aaron, unsure. Aaron gives him a smile. “Okay.” And that’s it. Alexander takes his hand away. They share a look, walk to the lounge, together, and turn on the television. They sit together, a little closer than necessary. Silence feels alright, too. Aaron missed this. Aaron missed Alexander, specifically.

“Aaron?” Alexander asks again, and the round way that his mouth wraps around the word still gives Aaron chills. He says it like he always has, like it’s his favorite word. Aaron turns to look at him. “Yes, Alexander?” That’s his favorite word, too. Or maybe it just used to be. _Happy_ is at least a close second nowadays. Alexander sighs, doesn’t look back at him. He just lays his head over on Aaron’s shoulder. He’s warm. Rainwater on tin roof. Aaron wonders if it’s raining outside, if it’s raining wherever Eliza is. Alexander stays like that, quiet again, like Aaron gave him the answer that he wanted. Aaron thinks that they always had the answer, in that case. Maybe they just didn’t know the question.

“Do you still love me?” Alexander breathes, his voice soft and barely loud enough to hear, even with the close proximity. Aaron thinks about it, hard. He does, in the way a man loves the moon for rising. A bright constant, a shining something, a far off dream. Men have walked on the moon before but Aaron- Aaron surely hasn’t. Perhaps no one is meant to. He wonders if it’s because, as bright and blinding up close as it is from way down here, the moon is nothing more than just that, something to believe in. Aaron wonders if when he touched the surface, if it would be all that he dreamed or just Earth with less gravity. Just Alexander, the dirt less stable or certain.

Of course Aaron loves Alexander. How could he not? Who wouldn’t? He has that way about him. A way like when he can’t see it, can’t have it, it scares him how much he wants it back. So, as it turns out, loving the moon like that might be more work than it’s worth. Aaron still wants like he’s never wanted before.

“Something like that,” he answers finally, and has to choke back to urge to kiss Alexander’s forehead, smooth his fingers over the surface and check for residual stardust. If they were different people now, he thinks, he’d be a goddamn astronaut. He’d bring his flags, make his mark, scream _i was here_ like anyone else cares. A small step for man.

Aaron has never been able to tell if the moon is waxing or waning. Alexander had grabbed his hand once, moved his pointer finger along the round edge of it in the sky, explained what the difference is but Aaron can’t remember it now. That was only a little while ago, just a little while before Alexander proposed. The moon was gone the next night. New moon, Alexander said. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. And then he kissed Aaron, hard.

They were so happy then. And it was so recent, so close he can taste it, so close that it aches and burns and he feels a little dizzy. What went wrong? Why did Alexander fade out so quickly?

Aaron supposes he’s never been able to tell waxing from waning, that’s all the explanation he needs.

“I still love you, Aaron,” comes Alexander’s voice, soft and sweet and ringing in Aaron’s ears. He must hear how smitten he sounds, because he clears his throat, shakes his head a little. “You know what I mean, though.” Aaron does. He thinks he agrees. Sometime soon, he’ll have to have Alexander reteach him, trace the moon with their fingertips again. They can lift their own hands this time. Aaron knows he can do that now. If they were different people, he’d take Alexander outside right now, hold his hand up to the sky. It’s a new moon tonight, nothing but a sky full of stars and an empty place where the moon will rise, and where new life will take its rightful place. A new beginning. A new hope. Something bigger than the both of them.

Alexander’s wedding ring brushes up against Aaron’s hand again, and it jars him from his thoughts. Not anymore. The moot fits like a snow globe in his palm. If they were different people now, Aaron wouldn’t toss it back into the sky. He’d keep it, selfish, all for himself. Damn the world. Damn the ring on Alexander’s finger. If they were different people.

He’s almost glad that they aren’t.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i wrote this in about an hour because im working on a burrens fic that has taken me 90 years to complete and just...i hope we all enjoyed this angsty mush. everyone in this deserves better
> 
> im on tumblr @schuyburr for all your sad hamburr needs. anyone who leaves comments or kudos can be my best friend and i will forever be indebted to you


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